


Old Drusilla

by Radiolaria



Category: The Pretender
Genre: Gen, Not Beta Read, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, References to Suicide, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/pseuds/Radiolaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Jarod ran away. And never went back. Miss Parker had no time to grow old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Drusilla

**Author's Note:**

> First Pretender fic after a very long time and first in English...

"Drusilla vieille, c'était bien pis que Drusilla morte."

_Albert Camus, Caligula_

 

***

She charged the bullets.

She drew her cigarettes.

She emptied her glasses.

She tricked her heart.

 

 _He lost it_ , Broots said.

 _He hides_ , Sydney said.

 _You lost him_ , they said.

 _I don't care_ , she thought.

 

There’s a bottle of gin and she’s warm. There’s the ever pressing of her gun against her and she’s not alone.

 

_You're beautiful when you're angry._

_Where are your teeth and claws?_

He makes her feel old. And she wishes she had someone to tell her she is not.

 

_I'm transferred to Google HQ. Google!_

_Are they raising a new one?_

_Keep on searching._

_I don't care_ , she said.

 

She is old.

_Back to security. Finished with the Pretender. He's becoming something of a legend with the years._

_Google, my foot._

_Why doesn't Sydney visit anymore?_

 

She's past that point.

 

_I am old._

 

She runs into Lyle, from time to time.

_Oh. I thought you were dead._

Each time.

_He's getting creepier by the month._

She's not surprised when she receives the order to clean behind him. Each time.

 

Once, she cleans his corpse. She barely thinks now.

 

Worn and worked. As wine, or wood, or cheese.

 _Does it mean she is rotting?_  

No calls.

And she knows she is.

 

Later, much later, after Sydney burns in a car crash, after Angelo finds his way to the asylum, after Raines' emphysema chokes him, after Sam ends up on the run, she hates him.

By then, she understands. It doesn't lessen the pain.

Cutting all his ties to the Centre was the only way he could get free. Even if it means not saving them, not a single one of them.

A bullet, a cigarette, a drop of alcohol. It's easy to burn to oblivion.

 

 


End file.
